


tell me goodbye

by FantasySwap



Series: tell me goodbye [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Exhibitionism, M/M, Power Imbalance, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasySwap/pseuds/FantasySwap
Summary: If you asked Carl he would say that it started with a pen— started when Negan said, “get down on the ground next to Daddy.” He had seen something shift in Negan’s eyes then, as the man placed a hand on his back and pushed him down, felt Carl struggle under his palm for a second before he gave up and laid his cheek against the gravel.____In which Carl isn’t like other boys, and Negan wants to be his first everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will not be in canonical order… I played around with a few things. I hope you all enjoy it! <3

It started with a pen.

 

Well, no, that’s not entirely accurate. If you asked Carl he would say that it started with a pen— started when Negan said, “get down on the ground next to Daddy.” He had seen something shift in Negan’s eyes then, as the man placed a hand on his back and pushed him down, felt Carl struggle under his palm for a second before he gave up and laid his cheek against the gravel. It started, Carl would say, when Negan held the cap of a pen between his teeth and dragged the nib along Carl’s forearm, his other hand encircling Carl’s wrist, feeling the delicate bones shift between his fingers. Holding that power in your hand, Carl has learnt from experience, is a major aphrodisiac for some men and it doesn’t surprise him in the least that Negan is one of those men. Knowing he had the power to crush Carl’s hand if he wanted to… of course that would be the thing that would turn Negan on.

 

If you asked Negan, he would say it started from the first second he saw the kid, coming out of his trailer to see them all lined up like sitting ducks. They all looked so frightened, so skittish, and then right there at the end was this little spit fire of a boy, barely a day over sixteen, with his chin tilted upwards and a cold, steely glint of hatred in his eyes. His eye, Negan noticed, because hidden under that ridiculous wide brimmed hat of his, and the dark, sleek curtain of hair, was a scrappy white bandage wrapped around the other eye. There’s a story there, Negan had thought to himself, but he was too distracted by the soft curve of the boy’s lips and the defiant way he cocked his head to the side that made Negan want to possess him. To own him. To break him.

 

The kid was smart as well: when Negan asked them all to turn over their shit and the boy produced a handful of Negan’s own guns he felt like laughing. He felt like closing his fingers around the kid’s hair and yanking his head back, exposing the pale, unmarked skin of his neck. He still to this day doesn’t know why he didn’t. He could have; he could have fucked the kid right there if he’d felt like it, right in front of his daddy and all his friends, until the kid was sobbing and writhing, not knowing whether he wanted to press closer or get away. Maybe it would have been better to do that as well, maybe that way he would have gotten Carl out of his system before things got so messy.

 

Really though, it started when Carl took out two of his men and jumped out of one of Negan’s supply vans threatening to shoot him. ‘Second time you’ve managed to get one of our guns,’ Negan wanted to say to him. He wasn’t afraid: the kid was a little serial killer for sure, and he clearly wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him, but Negan had always been stupid like that. Stupidly fearless. Fearlessly stupid.

 

“You are _adorable_.” Negan had grinned, had watched the boy scowl and blush in harmony, frustrated with himself for not being able to hide either reaction. “Did you choose that gun ‘cause it looks cool? I bet you did.”

 

Within two minutes the kid was on his back, his hat lying a few feet from his head, staring up at Negan. Negan wanted to keep him there, to order his men to scatter and to place a foot on Carl’s chest and keep him staring up at Negan forever with wild, desperate expression. He wanted to suck Carl’s cock, show the kid what a good Daddy he could be, how he could take care of Carl much better than Rick could.

 

The kid took his hand.

 

***

 

“Gotta say, I’m flattered. You came all the way from Alexandria just to see me. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you liked me.” Negan teased as he closed the door behind them. Getting Carl to his room hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he’d anticipated; the kid really was smart. He didn’t try to run once.

 

“Where’s Daryl?” Carl asked, arms wrapped around his waist. Negan placed a hand on the kid’s chest, splaying his fingers over his heart for just long enough to feel the heat radiating through the boy’s skin, and pushed him backwards before Carl could jerk away. He stumbled, falling back onto Negan’s sofa with a high pitched squeak of alarm.

“You don’t need to worry about that Carl.” Carl sat with his legs together and his hands in his lap, head bowed. He looked so submissive, the picture of acquiescence, and Negan couldn’t help but want to mess with him.

 

“Take that shit off.” He told the kid. “Feels like I’m talking to a birthday present.” The way Carl looked at him, disbelief mingled with fear, was enough to get Negan going. He leaned forward in his seat; Carl would refuse him, he knew, and then Carl would have to do as he was told because it was painfully obvious that Negan was in charge here. He could make Carl do anything and the kid would, if it meant saving his friends.

 

Negan admitted to himself that he might have a slight obsession with the kid’s arms as they rose above his head to remove the hat, and then the bandage. They were so pretty, pretty hands with long pretty fingers like you would find on a girl. His forearms were so slim, his wrists so delicate and fragile, his skin would be so soft.

 

Negan would also admit to being an asshole— he was a piece of shit and he knew it and that was probably the main reason everybody respected him as much as they did. When made the kid cry he didn’t know what to think. “C’mon kid,” he remembered saying. “Lighten up. At least cry a little.”

 

He made Carl sing for him. It was a power rush, and he was high on the feeling of control. Carl, terrified, fearless, badass, sensitive Carl Grimes, crying whilst singing a song and flinching every time Negan swung Lucille around in circles anywhere near him. In his head he was struggling to put these two sides of Carl together: the Carl that cried and sung lullabies and blushed when Negan called him adorable, and the Carl that stole Negan’s guns and killed two of his men and held his arm out when Negan told Rick to cut it off, who said, “Dad. Just do it.”

 

The Carl that shot his mother, and the Carl that resented her for making him do it. The Carl that would do anything to protect his father, and the Carl that resented him for letting him.

 

The kid had some serious Daddy issues, and it was sick how much Negan wanted to exploit that.

 

“You’re a smart kid, Carl.” He said, completely serious. “What should I do? You snuck in here, you shot two of my men— I can’t just let that slide. There has to be punishment. What should I do?”

 

Carl didn’t reply.

 

“Carl.” Carl flinched. “You know why I _like_ you so much?”

 

Carl didn’t say anything. His fringe hung over his empty socket, allowing him to hide behind it.

 

“Speak when you’re spoken to!” Negan yelled, standing up abruptly and startling Carl so bad that the kid nearly jumped out of his fucking skin. His arms were wound so tightly around his own torso that his fingernails dug into his skin, leaving crescent moon shaped imprints. When Negan moved to stand in front of him, towering over him, his presence overpowering, Carl let out a breathy little sob. Negan bent at the knee and sat on his haunches in front of the kid, reaching out a hand and with his thumb and his forefinger gripping Carl’s chin gently, he tipped the boy’s face up to meet his gaze.

 

“You are so fucking pretty when you cry.” Negan said.

 

Carl understood then.

 

***

 

Nothing happens for a long time. Carl is still effectively a prisoner - Negan wouldn’t let him leave no matter what he agreed to - so he has no idea how his father or Michonne or Judith are doing, but he likes to believe that they’re okay. They’re all strong, all smart, all survivors. They can get by without Carl for a couple of weeks.

 

Which is exactly the issue. They can get by without him; as much as they might miss him, they’re probably better off without him. More food for Judith, less chance she’ll grow up hungry and stunted. Negan, on the other hand, is an enigma and Carl doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to figure him out.

 

Negan summons Carl the next day. Dwight doesn’t bother speaking to explain any of this though. He grabs Carl when he’s still asleep; an iron grip around his bicep jerks Carl into awareness and he panics, flailing his arms so that he slaps Dwight in the face with the back of his hand by accident. Dwight hisses through his teeth, muttering something that sounds like, “little bitch”, and smacking Carl across the face so hard that his teeth knock together.

 

Carl doesn’t quit fighting when he gets his senses back and figures out who it is dragging him out of his room; _‘this is it’,_ he thinks, _‘Negan has finally sent someone to finish me off.’_ He’s been waiting for it to happen, wondering when Negan would make his decision, but now that it’s apparently been made Carl doesn’t feel ready at all. He still has so much left to do, so many loose ends still to take care of: he hasn’t said goodbye to his father or Michonne or Judith. He was going to write letters. Now he’ll never be able to.

 

He only calms down when Dwight slams him face first against the wall, thick fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, and grunts, “Calm down you little fucker. I’d love to put a bullet in your brain but for some godforsaken reason Negan wants you alive. Now come the fuck on, you’re gonna be late.”

 

“Late for what?” Carl replies stonily, still not convinced that Dwight won’t pull out a gun or a knife the second he lets his guard down. In response Dwight Judy smirks. Carl is less than reassured.

 

Carl’s room is a box: presumably it was a utility cupboard before the Saviours commandeered the building, but someone must have shoved a ratty, insect infested mattress in it and taken out all the shelves to turn it into a little prison cell of a bedroom for Negan’s ‘visitors’. There’s a bucket in the corner that so far Carl hasn’t been desperate enough to use.

 

Negan’s room isn’t actually that far from Carl’s own. If they didn’t lock him in every time they leave him alone - if Carl was strong enough to break down the door - he could probably sneak up here and take Negan by surprise. Steal a knife and slit the man’s throat in his sleep. _‘You got a lot of our guns’,_ he hears like a soundtrack in the back of his mind and he tries to ignore the way his whole body heats up. If Dwight notices he doesn’t say anything— Carl is grateful for small mercies.

 

Ever the dutiful servant, Dwight knocks four times when they get to Negan’s door - a specific pattern Carl automatically memorises lest it be useful for the future - and the man himself yells, “Come in,” from behind the door. Carl is expecting him to be alone, maybe with an array of weapons spread out on the table in front of him so Carl can choose which one Negan uses to kill him— an extension of the man’s sick, sadistic game. What he’s faced with, though, is not at all what he expected and yet somehow entirely unsurprising.

 

Negan is sat on the sofa opposite the door, legs spread and jeans pushed down to his mid thigh. His t-shirt and leather jacket are still on. There’s a woman on his lap, entirely naked, her long brown hair tumbling down her back. It bounces every time she moves, and she _is_ moving: riding him at a perfectly leisurely pace like there isn’t a teenager watching, like Negan isn’t a psychopathic murderer.

 

Carl’s Sharp intake of breath is enough to draw Negan’s attention away from the woman’s chest and over to Carl, standing paralysed in the doorway, eyes darting around the room, settling anywhere other than the spectacle in front of him.

 

“Dwight.” Negan says, a command in that one word. In his peripheral vision Carl sees Dwight nod, feels the man’s presence behind him retreat, hears the door click shut behind him. And then there were three: Carl, Negan, and the woman riding him into the couch.

 

“Carl.” Negan grins, sounding almost completely unaffected. “Pass me my drink, would ya? I wanna talk to you, kid.” He gestures to a glass on the table just in front of him - Carl will have to stand right in front of Negan, right behind the woman, close enough to touch - filled with an amber liquid. This is all a mindfuck, Carl knows, Negan’s form of punishment. This is Negan having fun by messing with Carl’s mind— he just has to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t bother him, but there’s no chance, Negan knows him, Negan will see right through him, fuck, what does he _do—_

 

“Kid!” Negan shouts, one big hand raised as he clicks his fingers in Carl’s direction. The hand falls, landing on the woman’s waist and sliding along the smooth skin there. Carl has a brief flash of curiosity: Negan’s hand looks so big, so powerful, on the woman’s tiny waist. He wonders if it would look the same if it was Carl on his lap. He’s flushing bright red and he knows it, but once the thought is in his head he can’t seem to get rid of it.

 

“I get it,” Negan continues, sounding sickeningly smug. “You’re just a kid. You were, what, ten when all this started? You’ve probably never seen porn before— hell, you’ve probably never had chance to jerk off, but I’m gonna need you to stop hyperventilating and get me my fucking drink.”

 

Negan’s words do nothing to help Carl’s condition: it’s not like the man is even wrong either. Carl’s never watched porn, jerked off maybe a handful of times in the last six years, and other than a quick kiss with Enid and a meaty hand pressing his face into the dirt when he was a kid, he hasn’t had much sexual experience. This, as depressing as it is, is the peak of his sexual prowess.

 

He shuffles along Negan’s carpeted floor, feeling horribly exposed because he didn’t have time to put shoes or socks on when Dwight grabbed him. His bare feet look out of place, far too vulnerable, sinking into Negan’s plush carpet. Carl takes extra care not to trip or fall over, keeping his gaze resolutely on the glass in front of him. When he holds it out for Negan to take, looking at his feet determinedly, Negan snorts. Before taking it out of Carl’s hand he lets his head fall back against the sofa and lets out the most indecent sounding moan Carl has ever heard. His eyes flutter and his grip on the glass loosens and fuck, he can’t believe he’s letting this affect him.

 

Anger surges through him, a welcome change from how helpless he’s been feeling lately. Not wanting to appear weak in front of the man he came here to kill, Carl raises his eyes defiantly and meets Negan’s gaze. The man raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused and impressed at the same time, and takes the glass from him. Carl tries not to watch the man’s Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down as he tips the glass back and swallows. When he’s finished he hands the empty glass back to Carl, and Carl would ask Negan where the hell he gets off treating him like a slave but he’s afraid he already knows the answer.

 

“So how’re you likin’ your room, huh? Probably a bit different to what you and your daddy had back home, right?” Negan licks the moisture from his lips and leans back in the seat with a satisfied sigh. The woman doesn’t even react, just keeps rocking over the man’s body, little high pitched sounds punched out of her with each movement. Carl breathes heavy, unable to stop himself from glancing at her every few seconds even though he knows he shouldn’t.

 

“It’s fine.” Carl replies venomously but fuck if Negan is getting an honest answer out of him. The woman is moving faster now and Carl hopes that means it’s going to be over soon, that he can go back to his tiny room and go the fuck to sleep and try to forget that any of this ever happened.

 

“And are my boys making you comfortable? You hungry? Horny? What? Just give me a shout Carl, I’m sure I can arrange something.”

 

“Fuck you.” Carl spits, unable to hold it back any longer. Negan won’t hurt him for that, he doesn’t think, it’s the sort of thing that’ll make Negan respect him. If Negan is capable of respecting another human being, that is.

 

Before either of them can say anything else the woman lets out a long, breathless sigh. It cuts through the tense silence like a knife, reminding both of them why they’re here and what exactly is going on.

 

“You jealous, Carl?” Negan taunts suddenly, unexpectedly, and the glass in Carl’s hand topples to the floor. There’s no way Negan could know… is there? Has Carl looked at him in a certain way? Has he reciprocated Negan’s suggestive looks?

 

“Is that it, Carl?” Negan carries on, eyes darting from the glass on the floor to Carl’s conflicted face. His hand slides up her back slowly, disappearing under the curtain of her hair. “You jealous? You want your cock in her?”

 

Carl isn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not. On the one hand Negan doesn’t know about his guilty crush— because honestly, a crush is all it can be. Carl is a teenager with teenage hormones and this is the first time anybody has ever looked at him like they wanted him. Granted it’s a shame it had to be a murderer, but Negan is confident and suave and Carl believes wholeheartedly that if Carl asked, if it’s something he wanted, Negan would take care of him.

 

On the other hand, Negan thinks Carl wants to put his cock in one of Negan’s wives, which is not ideal for a number of reasons.

 

“I’d let you do it, y’know.” Negan grunts, hips lifting to meet the woman halfway. _This is going to be over soon,_ Carl thinks, with a strange sort of heavy disappointment rather than the relief he thought he’d feel. “She would too. She’d let you fuck her. Thing is though Carl, I wanna be the person to do it first.”

 

Carl feels his breath catch in his throat. He feels heavy, lethargic, and he’s starting to get hard.

 

“I wanna be the person to take your virginity. I wanna see what you look like when you come. I wanna see what you look like with my cock inside you.”

 

“Stop it.” Carl breathes, voice barely audible. He lets his hair hand over his face as a way to hide, but Negan always seems to see straight through his disguises.

 

“Is that what you want, Carl? You want me to stop? I don’t think you do.” Carl feels trapped, a wild animal, caught in a snare. He has to go somewhere but he has nowhere to go. He’s well and truly stuck.

 

“Negan,” Carl whispers, making eye contact for the second time since he walked in the room. That seems to be all the man needs because his jaw clenches and, without ever breaking eye contact, Negan thrusts upwards once, twice, and comes.

 

It’s silent for two or three minutes afterwards. Carl has no idea what to say, has no idea just how much he’s actually admitted to the man.

 

“You can go now.” Negan tells him eventually, jerking his chin in the direction of the door. Carl leaves without a backwards glance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! (And rec me some Cegan fics please I need them to survive.)


	2. Chapter 2

Carl doesn’t hear from Negan for the next week and a half; he stays in his box room and counts the ceiling tiles and fantasises about all the ways he could kill Negan. He absolutely doesn’t let his mind wander - when he’s alone at night curled up in bed - to the way Negan’s stomach muscles rippled to the way his throat looked, all exposed and vulnerable, when he let his head fall back and moaned. Carl does _not_ think about what it would be like to be in the place of the woman, with Negan’s hands all over him.

 

The thing is, Carl has been surrounded by adults his entire life. He’s grown up with his dad and Michonne and Shane and Daryl and Glenn and Maggie. They’re all _great_ but they’ve treated Carl like a child his entire life. He’s never met someone before who treats him like he’s an adult, like he’s mature, like he’s _desirable_. It’s a nice feeling, Carl decides, and while he may hate Negan he can’t ignore that the man makes him feel wanted, like he’s good for something more than killing zombies and taking care of Judith.

 

One thing Carl has noticed, though, is that the other guys at the Sanctuary don’t like him. He doesn’t blame them really— he hid on a supply truck, killed two of their men, tried to kill Negan and has seemingly got clean away with it. God knows what they must think of him, what they _must_ think he’s done to earn Negan’s favour in the way that he has. To be fair Carl isn’t sure of that himself, but Carl decides that the men must think Negan is fucking him.

 

He’s in the main rec hall a couple of days after the incident in Negan’s bedroom when the man really start paying attention to him. Before now they’ve all mostly stayed away from him, choosing to shoot him dirty looks from across the room or shoulder barge him out of the way if they’re walking past. Carl found it amusing really - grown men finding new petty ways to try and piss Carl off - but right now there’s nothing funny about the way these three men are walking up to him, guns plastered to their hips. They’re roughly the same size as Negan, some even bigger in stature though none of them match his energy. Carl’s fingers twitch uselessly and he feels a heavy surge of bitter resentment towards Negan then for taking all his weapons, for leaving him in the shark tank without so much as a knife to protect himself.

 

“Hey,” one of them calls, voice carrying so that the whole hall turns to look at them. Carl swallows. “Grimes. I’m talking to you.”

 

It’s at this point that Carl thinks it might be productive to start getting the fuck out of here. Not that his little box room could offer him much protection, but at least then the men might be reminded of Negan’s interest in him, might think twice before bashing his skull in. He’s anticipating a beating either way— all he wants now is to get out of here with his life.

 

As soon as he stands up, though, he can tell the chances of that are getting smaller. There are two advancing on him from behind, three in front; he’s surrounded without any hope of getting out of here in time. He wonders briefly if they planned this, if they got together last night and organised his death, or if the others can just smell the blood in the water and came here to join in. The latter is more likely: Carl doubts these guys have a braincell between them.

 

“What?” Carl responds, putting as much bite behind the words as he can. It sounds weak even to his own ears: brittle and afraid, like he might snap in two at any second from the pressure alone. These people can smell his fear. They exchange grins and take a step closer in unison.

 

“Look at him,” one of the men behind him sniggers. Carl whirls round, feeling off balance and exposed. “He looks like a fucking girl. You reckon that’s why Negan keeps him around?”

 

Carl flushes angry red, frustrated that he can’t keep his head clear. He already knows they think Negan is fucking him, that’s not a surprise to him, so why does he feel so humiliated when it’s put into words? It’s the end of the fucking world, there are zombies at every turn, and comments about his appearance bother him? Maybe he is fucking weak.

 

“Fuck off.” Carl mutters, knowing that this just makes things worse for himself. If they didn’t think he was pathetic before they definitely do now. Oh well; he’s never had to kill anyone with his bare hands before but there’s a first time for everything. If this is his time then he’s sure as hell taking some of these assholes down with him when he goes.

 

“You got a problem with us?” One of the other men says. Carl turns again, narrowly avoids tripping over his own feet, feels very much like a trapped bird in a cage. His breath is coming quicker and his heart is pounding uncomfortably fast. At least it’s beating, Carl rationalises.

 

“You come here, kill two of us and think you can act like you’re better than us? You’re nothing. You’re Negan’s bitch. You think he’ll miss you? Negan’s got a lot of wives; he isn’t gonna care about a little twink fag like you.”

 

Carl acts before he can think about it, lashing out. It’s not quite a slap, not quite a punch, and his sharp nails rip at the man’s cheek just below his eye. His hand comes away spotted with blood and the man rears back, roaring out an enraged sound. The other men from behind him rush forward and grab him under each arm, hauling him upwards. Carl’s body goes taut and he kicks out, catching one man in the stomach with the heel of his boot. His hat lies upside down on the ground just next to them and Carl has the absurd thought that he doesn’t want it to get stepped on, wonders if they’d let him move it quickly.

 

Someone tangles a fist in his hair and yanks his head back; he bares his teeth and spits in the man’s face, accepts the punch to the stomach that it gets him in return. He’s struggling, failing. He knows any second now he’s going to reach a point where he can’t continue fighting and, when that happens, he’s going to die. These people are going to kill him— he’s not going to get any second chances here.

 

He’s just preparing himself for it, readying himself for a shot or a knife or something, when the whole rec hall seems to fall silent. There’s no chatter, no laughter or cheering for the - clearly unmatched - fight in front of them. Carl is still being held up under the armpits, jostled from man to man, but instead of fighting for who gets to land the final blow they seem to be pushing him away, trying to distance themselves.

 

A voice cuts like a blade through the silence.

 

“And just exactly what the fuck is going on here?” Negan strolls forward, his presence filling the room slowly and assuredly. Carl doesn’t know whether to be relieved or even more terrified; what if Negan is in on this? What if this is all his idea? Carl thought he was a deadman the minute Negan stood over him and held out his hand to pull him up, but the reality of it actually happening today is horrifying.

 

“We were just messing around.” One of the men replies faux confidently, and when all the hands release their hold on him his back hits the floor with a painful thud. His head knocks against the concrete and he can’t keep in a groan, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to curl into a ball in front of everybody.

 

“That so?” Carl can’t see Negan any more but his voice carries over the hall; even if you were standing at the very back you would know exactly what was going on over here. There’s a scuffle of feet near Carl’s head and he flinches, but it just turns out to be the circle of people around him moving closer to Negan. That’s a questionable decision, Carl decides, but good for him. At least it means their focus is no longer on him.

 

“That true, Carl?” To Carl’s surprise, Negan addresses him. His head jerks up from the floor and he bites his tongue to keep from groaning in pain, scrabbling backwards with wide eyes trained on the man in front of him. He feels… safer, oddly, with Negan here. He knows in that second that Negan isn’t going to kill him, isn’t going to let these other men kill him, and he stumbles a little as he rises to his feet.

 

He doesn’t answer Negan’s question. He doesn’t have to.

 

“You see, the way _I_ see it,” Negan swings Lucille around in a quick circle, barely a flash of movement with a whooshing noise as it slices through the air. “When one guy’s lying face down on the ground it ain’t fun anymore.”

 

Carl flushes pink with humiliation, wrapping his arms around himself like it could protect him from the dozens of pairs of eyes all trained on him, on the spectacle unfolding in front of everyone. Right now Carl longs for the ample protection of his room, of the paper thin door that separates him from everyone else, desperately wants the feeling of the walls closing in on him compared to this open space where he’s on display.

 

“Come on boss,” the man who punched Carl in the face says, shifting from foot to foot. “He’s just some bitch from—”

 

Carl doesn’t even see it coming. He’s not sure anybody does, although everybody should. It’s ridiculous to even think that Negan would let somebody talk to him like that and get away with it. One second the man is standing up and the next he’s on the floor with his guts spilling out all around him, a red puddle threatening to soak Carl’s boots. He darts backwards before it can reach him and in doing so stumbles over his own hat lying abandoned on the floor. He dusts it off and places it back on his head, feeling none of the confidence that it used to bring him. He feels like a little boy playing dress up with his father’s police uniform, way out of his depth.

 

Not for the first time since all this started, his misses home. Desperately.

 

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” Negan asks, wiping the blood off his knife on the nearest person’s sleeve. They don’t object.

 

There’s silence. Nobody dares move, let alone speak; Negan has total control here and he knows it, and all of this is just to show off. Carl would be impressed if he weren’t so shaken— he’s seen people die before _of course,_ has killed people before of course, but this is different somehow. This is Negan killing somebody _for Carl_. The thing Carl finds scariest is that he sort of likes the feeling it gives him. What does that say about him?

 

Carl’s head is so scattered that he doesn’t even notice Negan approaching him. He only realises the man is there when he’s standing over him, one hand curled protectively around Carl’s elbow and the other on the small of his back, leading him away from the crowd of people and towards the nearest exit. In his wake he leaves a hall full of silent, sombre people: not at all surprised about what they’ve seen yet still somehow shocked by it.

 

Negan directs him towards the staircase that leads to his room. Negan’s room is at the top of course - the biggest and the most elegant - and Carl has been in it exactly twice in the couple of weeks that he’s been here. First when he sang for Negan, second when Negan came inside one of his wives right in front of Carl. It’s easy to say which was more memorable.

 

Except this time when they walk inside, after closing the door behind him and throwing Lucille to the floor carelessly, instead of leading them towards the sofa Negan heads for the grand sized bed in the middle of the room. Carl doesn’t have the wherewithal to panic; he just lets himself be manhandled towards the mattress and bears it with grace when Negan plucks his hat off his head.

 

“Are you okay?” Negan asks Carl for the first time ever, voice sincere and startlingly intense. He’s not smiling, not even smirking, and Carl realises that he’s deadly serious. He isn’t messing around, he really, truly cares about Carl. That’s even more of a rush than knowing Negan killed a man for him.

 

“What?” Carl asks in a small voice, looking up at Negan through bleary eyes like he doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t. It isn’t the first time he’s cried in front of the man but somehow it doesn’t feel as humiliating as it had last time.

 

“How bad did they hurt you? Are you alright?” Negan repeats, slower. A big hand stretches out and cups Carl’s face, hair slipping through his fingers. Carl can’t help but press into the gesture, seeking the comfort that he hasn’t had in so long.

 

“He just— you just… his eyes—” Negan inhales shakily, sharply, unable to hold back a sob. Immediately Negan steps forward and tugs Carl towards him harshly. Carl falls into his chest without any hesitation, without so much as a fight, and allows the tension to drain out of him. Negan pets his hair for a few brief seconds before his hands slip down Carl’s back, towards the back of his thighs.

 

Carl feels so drained, so empty, that he knows if Negan tries anything now he won’t be able to stop the man. He won’t put up any fight. He won’t have the strength.

 

But Negan’s hands grip the back of Carl’s thighs and without a warning he hoists him up, encourages Carl to wrap his legs around his waist. Carl flings his arms around the man’s neck in surprise, hiccuping as he swallows a sob. Negan carries him towards the bed and lays him down gently, brushing the hair from his face.

 

“Shh,” he hums comfortingly, thumbing over the cut on Carl’s lip thoughtfully. “Just sleep now. I’ll take care of everything.”

 

And, the strangest thing that has happened all day, Carl trusts him.

 

And he sleeps.

 

***

 

When Carl wakes he feels sore all over: his ribs feel tender and bruised, his lip stings and there’s something ice cold being pressed to his temple. His eyes flutter open slowly, tiny pinpricks of light shooting sharp pain up his spine and adding to his headache. Bit by bit, blurry and slow moving, Negan comes into view. He’s hovering over Carl and holding what appears to be a chilled beer bottle to his forehead. Carl snorts - and the movement _hurts_ \- because some things never change.

 

“What…?” Carl mumbles, struggling to sit up on his elbows. His forehead creases in confusion when Negan places a gentle hand on Carl’s back and helps him sit upright, soothing him with calming sounds. This is so different to the Negan Carl has come to know that he isn’t sure if he’s actually dead or not, or if he just hit his head harder than he thought and is actually in an alternate universe right now. Whatever the answer is, he’s not sure he wants it to end.

 

“Hey, how ya feeling?” Negan asks, voice low. In actuality Carl isn’t too sure how he’s feeling. Sleepy, for sure. Aching. Strangely affectionate towards the man who threatened to kill him and then saved his life. None of this he can say out loud of course.

 

“Fine.” Carl shrugs. “How long was I out?”

 

“Not long. I haven’t gone and killed the others, if that’s what you’re asking.” Negan smirks at his own joke but it’s superficial and they both know it. I haven’t left, is the unspoken understanding between them. Carl doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t take his eyes off Negan’s. The air between them is thicker and they’re close: Carl is only just realising how close. Something is happening here. Something that, a couple of days ago Carl would have been extremely opposed to. Now though? He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, and he doesn’t have the energy to pretend he wants to.

 

“Negan…” Carl starts, eyes flickering down to the man’s lips, and then they’re kissing, Negan’s mouth on his, lips soft and unrelenting at the same time. It’s Carl’s first kiss - his first proper kiss at least - and it’s so intense that the only noise in his head is static, buzzing endlessly. Negan kisses the way he leads: dominant, confident and all consuming. Carl has no sooner gotten used to Negan’s lips on his that the man’s tongue is fucking into his mouth in a steady rhythm, teetering along the edge of too much and not enough. It leaves Carl totally overwhelmed and utterly unsatisfied at the same time.

 

“Negan,” Carl pants, pulling away from the man’s mouth for long enough to speak and catch his breath. A line of saliva connects their lips and for some reason it seems to drive Negan wild; he licks across Carl’s lips and tangles his fingers in the boy’s hair. He seems to have a thing for Carl’s hair, brushing it between his fingers and tugging on it slightly to dominate the kiss.

 

“It’s okay,” Negan hums. “Just relax. You’re okay.”

 

Carl nods; right now he thinks he’d do anything Negan asked of him. He leans forward again, eager to carry on kissing, but Negan chuckles a little and strokes two fingers down Carl’s cheek, dragging the pad of his thumb over Carl’s lower lip. Carl’s lips part a little, an unconscious motion that seems to please Negan if the widening of his pupils is anything to go by, and Negan pushes his thumb a little further forward so that it’s resting on the tip of Carl’s tongue.

 

“Easy, kid. There’s no rush— take it slow.” Negan emphasises his words with a slow kiss that, even without tongue, leaves Carl feeling breathless and lightheaded. “The key to kissing is quality, not quantity, y’know?”

Here he ducks down, places a series of open mouthed kisses up the side of Carl’s neck. It’s warm and wet and new and Carl is hard, uncomfortably so, in his jeans.

 

“You gotta leave the other person wanting more. Gotta leave them panting for you, begging for you.” Negan is speaking in a low whisper, like the words are special just for Carl. He trails kisses up Carl’s throat and behind the boy’s ear. “You gotta tease them until they’re about to snap, and then give them so much of what they want that they don’t know what to do with it.”

 

Carl isn’t expecting Negan’s next kiss to knock him off his - metaphorical - feet, but then his brain probably isn’t functioning like it normally does. He wobbles a little on the bed from the intensity, the passion, that Negan is exuding, and ends up with his back flat against the mattress. Negan hovers over him on all fours, their kiss never ending. He licks along Carl’s tongue, the roof of his mouth, a little spot behind his teeth that makes Carl shudder and his hair stand on end. He’s so lost in the tongue fucking into his mouth rhythmically that he doesn’t even notice Negan’s hand slipping under his t-shirt and sliding over his stomach.

 

In fact Carl’s t-shirt is all but bunched up around his neck before he even notices. Negan sits back on his thighs so that he has two hands to explore Carl’s body with: one of them settles over Carl’s nipple and the other goes further, catches in Carl’s hair again and plays with it. He has a brief moment of insecurity - as far as he knows Negan has only ever had wives, and Carl is lacking some pretty important body parts to be considered Negan’s wife - but Negan just bends his head and kisses in a circle around his nipple and says, “Prettiest fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.”

 

Carl’s whole body arches up off the mattress when Negan flattens his tongue over his nipple and drags it over the sensitive skin, slowly and with just enough pressure that the sensation travels all over Carl’ body. He’s clawing at Negan’s back for long enough that eventually the man discards his t-shirt, leaving Carl’s palms to rest on his bare skin.

 

“Your Daddy do this for you?” Negan grunts, looking up at Carl before biting into his chest harshly. Carl gasps, body jerking. Much to his confusion, Negan continues talking. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. He doesn’t take care of you like I’m gonna. You want me to show you what a good Daddy I can be, sweetheart?”

 

Carl’s brain flatlines. He no longer has the ability to think rationally— actually he thinks he might have lost that ability a long time ago, but with Negan marking up his chest and talking about being Carl’s Daddy… fuck. He hereby relinquishes all control over himself, his words and his actions from here on out.

 

“ _Carl_.” Negan says warningly, dragging his fingernails sharply over Carl’s exposed hip. “What do you say?”

 

And once again Carl is filled with an unexplainable affection because he knows what Negan is really asking: is this okay? Can I carry on? What do you say?

 

“ _Daddy_ ,” Carl sobs, fingers scrabbling through Negan’s coarse hair as the man’s head goes lower and lower, smiling as he sucks bruises into the skin of Carl’s stomach. Negan’s hands are on Carl’s zip before he can really understand what’s happening; Carl just has enough time to suck in a few shaky lungfuls of air before Negan is unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, and then tugging them roughly over the boy’s hips. He pulls them off and dumps them somewhere on the floor, unimportant for the moment.

 

Carl is left in nothing but his boxers, completely vulnerable to someone who, not long ago, he was trying to kill. His arms automatically wrap around his stomach, trying to shield himself from Negan’s view, but the man immediately takes them away again. His hands are so big that they can wrap around both of Carl’s wrists; he lifts them above Carl’s head and presses them into the mattress there for a second, insistent.

 

“Stay.” He commands. Carl’s only reply is an uncertain nod. This is all new to him: giving up control. Carl has never been without control of himself in any given situation, never wanted to be before now. What has Negan done to him?

Negan brushes the back of his palm over Carl’s cock through his boxers, thumbs the wet patch forming at the tip. His fingers curl around the shape of it loosely and he applies the slightest pressure, just enough to get Carl’s arms twitching with the effort to keep them above his head rather than yanking down his underwear.

 

“Negan—” Carl breathes, gasping when the man’s hand squeezes Carl’s cock through his underwear warningly, pleasure bordering on pain.

 

“If you want something,” Negan tells him sternly. “You know what to call me.”

 

Carl bites his lip. A stray tear slips from his eye and rolls across the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he’s denying or who he’s doing it for, who it’s benefiting more. It feels dirty, shameful somehow, but at the same time perfectly natural. The corner of Negan’s mouth tilts upwards a little like he knows something Carl doesn’t, and before Carl can get a clear head to figure out what’s going on Negan is stooping over again to press his lips against Carl’s boxers, just over where the tip of his cock is hidden.

 

“Fuck!” Carl moans, hips thrusting up uselessly. He’s crying openly now, tears neither happy or sad. He has no idea how he feels. He’s not sure it matters anymore— Negan has a funny way of making the thought of giving up control appealing.

 

“I need— please, I need—” Carl’s words trail off into a whorish moan as Negan zigzags his tongue up the hard length of Carl’s cock, the fabric of his boxers getting damp and sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

 

“You need?” Negan prompts, smiling evilly. “You don’t think your Daddy knows what you need?”

 

Carl whimpers.

 

“You need my cock inside you, don’t you? That’s what you need: someone to take over. Someone who’s gonna make you listen, for a change. You need a Daddy.”

 

“Please,” Carl begs, voice breaking. It feels like he’s breaking right now, like something is snapping inside him that he can’t control, because what Negan’s saying makes perfect sense to him. “Please.”

 

Negan sinks his teeth into the flesh of Carl’s thigh. “You know,” he growls. “what to call me.”

 

“ _Daddy_ ,” Carl cries, feeling exposed and vulnerable as though he’s been turned inside out in the best way possible. “Daddy, please.”

 

Negan hooks his fingers over the waistband of Carl’s boxers and rips them in two, throwing the two halves over his shoulder. Carl watches in amazement; if he was feeling more stable he’d probably complain - underwear isn’t the easiest thing to get your hands on in the middle of the apocalypse - but right now all it does is turn him on even more.

 

Negan sheds his jeans and boxers himself, hovering over Carl on all fours completely naked. He crawls further up Carl’s body until he’s straddling the boy’s chest. He pushes two fingers inside Carl’s mouth and rubs them in circles on Carl’s tongue. Carl whines.

 

“Relax, sweetheart.” Negan consoles him. “I’m gonna take care of you, but first I need you to be a good boy for Daddy and open up.”

 

Negan takes his fingers from between Carl’s lips and wraps a loose fist around his cock. Carl has seen other guys’ dicks before, of course. In a zombie apocalypse people tend to lose their sensibilities, but he’s never been in a situation like this before. Negan’s dick is hard and flushed red, precome glistening at the tip and it’s right _there_ , right in Carl’s face. His heart is pounding, apprehension and anticipation building in his chest even as he lets his mouth fall open.

 

Negan feeds his cock into Carl’s mouth bit by bit, stretching the boy’s lips out until the head is inside. Negan’s eyes are shut and his chest is heaving; Carl on the other hand is so overwhelmed with sensations that he doesn’t know which one to focus on first. He’s surrounded by Negan’s smell - musky, sweaty skin-smell - and the weight of Negan’s cock on his tongue might be the most arousing thing that has ever happened to him. He’s sucking cock for the first time ever— if it can even be called that, because Negan seems to be fucking his throat more than Carl is actually sucking him off.

 

“Fuck,” Negan groans. “You’re doing good, sweetheart. Just a little bit more to go now.”

 

This isn’t exactly true and Carl knows it but he appreciates Negan being comforting all the same, even if it throws him off a little. Negan pushes his hips forward a little further and Carl moans around the man’s cock as he feels it moving in his mouth, pushing against his cheek and tongue. A drop of precome oozes from the slit and dribbles onto Carl’s tongue, bitter and salty. He swallows impulsively and Negan moans, cupping the back of Carl’s head and sliding forward slowly and steadily until the tip of his cock is nudging the back of Carl’s throat and his nose is being tickled by Negan’s thick pubic hair.

 

“So good, Carl.” Negan tells him breathlessly. “You’re doing so well. Gonna fuck you now. Gonna give you what you need.”

 

Carl’s jaw clicks as Negan pulls his cock out. It’s shining with spit, saliva and precome wetting the tip. Carl can’t help but dart forwards and lick flatly along the slit before Negan yanks his head back using his hair. Then the man is leaning off the the side and rummaging in a drawer by the bed, returning with a half full tub of Vaseline. Carl has just enough wherewithal to raise a doubtful eyebrow at Negan, who grins, looking far too happy with himself.

 

“Gotta have the basics, right?” He raises both eyebrows. Carl snorts.

 

“Stay still.” Negan reminds him as he scoops a fair amount of Vaseline onto his fingers and spreads Carl’s legs, hooking them both over his shoulders. Carl shudders at the sudden change of position, the vulnerability of his most intimate place jarring. He has the urge to try and close his legs, hide himself away, but Negan told him to stay still and he realises that he really doesn’t want to disobey Negan.

 

He massages the Vaseline onto the skin around Carl’s hole for a long time, until the muscles have relaxed and his legs are shaking like crazy. His cock pulses, lying curved up against his belly and Carl wants nothing more than to just stroke himself off right now. He could come, he thinks, just from this. Negan obviously doesn’t want that though so he stays still, and then questions when he started basing his actions off what would make Negan happy.

 

When Negan slides the first finger in there’s barely any resistance, Negan has teased him for so long. The second one is a little more difficult; the stretch stings a little, but before long Carl is thrusting his hips backwards onto Negan’s fingers. They stroke along his walls and, if he’s lucky, occasionally brush against the spot inside him that makes him see stars.

 

Carl’s hair is sticking to his forehead, slick with sweat, and he’s fucking himself on three of Negan’s thick fingers before the man decides Carl is ready. He feels empty, gaping, without the man’s hand in him.

 

The first slide in is the most intense thing Carl has ever felt. He feels split open on Negan’s cock; he’s so completely surrounded by the man that all he can see, hear or think is of how he feels hovering over him. Negan doesn’t stop until he bottoms out and then, without Carl having to ask, he holds his hips still and gives the boy a chance to adjust. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of Carl’s chest as he sucks bruises into his throat and collarbone. It’s all Carl can do to hang onto Negan’s back and let the man take control.

 

Negan kisses like he leads, and fucks like he kisses. There’s no time for Carl to catch his breath or change anything. Negan holds him in place, one hand on his hip and one on his shoulder, and fucks into him at a brutal pace. It’s such a relentless stream of pleasure that Carl can’t even moan anymore— he just throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut and cries.

 

“Daddy,” He whispers, voice wrecked, and comes with Negan’s cock pressed against his prostate and his dick untouched. He shoots thick ropes of come over his own chest and Negan fucks him through it until he’s shaking with overstimulation.

 

“Yeah, fuck yeah, good boy, so good, fuck.” Negan is muttering, nonsensical words strung together. He doesn’t stop fucking Carl even as he comes inside him, warm and all consuming and so deep.

 

Negan pulls out of Carl with a heaving sigh, dropping down onto the bed next to him and throwing an arm over his shoulders for Carl to curl up into. Carl does, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his head on Negan’s chest. It’s warm and solid beneath him: reassuring. Maybe Negan is right. Maybe giving up control every once in a while to feel safe, protected, loved isn’t so bad.

 

“Negan?” Carl mumbles, looking at the man’s profile through the thick curtain of his own hair. He looks like any regular man like this, rather than a psychopathic murderer. He looks like he would be easy to love.

 

“Shut up.” Negan says quietly, frowning slightly. Carl smiles - shy, so unlike him - against Negan’s skin. The man softens his words by brushing Carl’s hair out of his face and placing a sweet kiss on the boy’s forehead. A few minutes pass, but Carl can’t seem to stop thinking. There are so many thoughts and questions rolling around in his head that he can’t seem to shut up.

 

“Negan?” He tries again. Negan sighs heavily and his hand snakes down Carl’s neck. His fingers brush over the boy’s bottom lip comfortingly.

 

“Go to sleep, Carl.” Negan tells him tiredly. “Unless you wanna sleep on the floor.”

 

Carl smiles. Some things will never change, he tells himself, and that’s probably for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! <3


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